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Elegy
David Ignatow — July 1954
- Abstract
I must find a stranger to knock on my door.
For one month I have lain on my couch
waiting
for a friendly knock. Why has there been
none?
Why outside is the sound always of traffic,
high-pitched impersonal hard rubber?
The sunlight has been a composition in
sunlight,
I think it poses for me like a cold model.
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